Anybody who knows me really well will be kind enough to admit that my mind is the physical representation of a drop slide. A drop slide you say? Take yourself back to those egg and cheese stinking indoor Children's play centres, the ones with the verruca infested ball pools of death and the rolling cylinders that you have to squeeze through, which are to blame for the stunt in growth of those mountains we women call boobs on our chests (at a young age constantly wishing your chest away so that you can squeeze through these bitches and tag the ginger bully kid ahead has a detrimental effect on your booby's growth in later life- objective research yet to be undertaken, but for now this can be added to my plethora of reasons behind my lack of breasticles) I used to walk in that place the queen of 'Go Bananas' and be dragged out kicking and screaming defeated by the same ginger kid who led me naively into a future of flat chasteness and who rejected the sense of 'share' or 'play'- my face was rather 'mush bananas' than 'Go bananas'.
But anyway once you are old and wise enough (roughly at the ripe age of 8) you get to the top of the play area, which at the time is like climbing to the base camp of everest. But finally you make it only to be confronted with this massive drop slide. When I was younger I would literally sit there for half an hour watching all of the brave kids take the plunge only to get up and walk away crying. These drop slides are horrendous, you know in Lion King when Simba and Nala slide into the Elephant graveyard where all is grim and nasty- its like that and we all know how that ended (naughty Simba!)
And this has impacted me and the way my mind works later in life. At the top of that drop slide all I felt was 'YES DO IT ALL THE OTHER KIDS ARE YAY!' but then this unreconcilable fear entered my pigtailed head... If you go down this drop slide you will definitely die. And what is worse is that this irrational and ad hoc way of thinking has followed me to maturity and to the actually ripe age of 21. I am so unbelievably illogical in my train of thought that it normally ends with the consequence of me doing something is dying. Or failing.
The reason behind this story is my utter frustration with myself that I can't even be that normal slightly rebellious person that every student has in them, I just want to skip a class once in a while and sleep in watching Frozen Planet and Young Apprentice. What does my mind say 'No Laura, you will die'. On the contrary this is one of the reasons that I have never taken drugs and never will take drugs so at once my drop slide mentality is a bitch and a blessing.
Fucking Go Bananas.
Wednesday 23 November 2011
Friday 11 November 2011
Just when you think you're having a great day...
You're normally not, it's that simple. Just when you think that you are having a fab day it turns around and bites you in the ass. In fact as a student there is a lot of ass biting! In particular the self inflicted ass biting kind. Good that huh?!
Anyway cue my ass biting (not literally before you start thinking that I need some sort of hound muzzle).
At the moment quite frankly I am a donkey on the edge. Ajaj has booked his tickets out of here and back to the land of sand, to which I just think absolutely fabulous good for him, totally happy, unbelievably cool about this whole situuu-bizzle going on let me just die a little inside. Ahem. So we spent a gorgeous day in London eating Sushi, people watching and shopping, the things we generally do best. Today however involved some considerable bird poop dodging as the pigeons in Oxford street tried their wings at shit-on-the-shopper (an enjoyable activity to tide their time by amidst consuming left-over burger baps on the street, grooming one another and humping on the Nelson's column.) It's all very funny until you get what can only be described as backsplash on the toe of your clean suede boots. By the way, there is NOTHING casual and Blasé about wiping bird crap, or any kind of crap off of your shoe (even if it is done in a SATC Carrie-esque style) it looked a lot more elegant in the movie.
So my man and I part ways and I hop onto the 16:05 back to Egham, my choice of carriage sans human beings was soon deemed useless when an old man sat directly opposite me and pretended to do his crossword whilst peering over his spectacles and examining my every move. Honestly, the carriage was empty was that seat REALLY the only one which took your liking? In my head there was then a massive debate do I move and make it obvious that I'm uncomfortable or do I stay hold my nose and pretend everything is fine? My mind is honestly what I (and I'm sure my boyfriend) would call 'reductio ad absurdum' making this man a mass murderer and therefore my life in danger. Honestly WHAT is wrong with me?! I'm sure he had a perfectly lovely wife a home making him a brew and waiting for his arrival but in my head all he had in his house was bodily remains and a chainsaw. I think the ending to this story is obvious. I hopped off of the 16:05 to Egham in one piece and jumped into the taxi home (You don't even need to ask what I thought the taxi driver would do to me...)
So far the day wasn't too bad at all, until I attempted to hand wash a white shirt with my cutesy purple shower gel and shampoo (Possibility brand Amber and lavender)- mental note taken, do this is you want to tie-dye your clothes in the future- not so chic for an evening shift at the restaurant however....FAIL.
Yours Always,
your Blunderfully Ridiculous L x
Anyway cue my ass biting (not literally before you start thinking that I need some sort of hound muzzle).
At the moment quite frankly I am a donkey on the edge. Ajaj has booked his tickets out of here and back to the land of sand, to which I just think absolutely fabulous good for him, totally happy, unbelievably cool about this whole situuu-bizzle going on let me just die a little inside. Ahem. So we spent a gorgeous day in London eating Sushi, people watching and shopping, the things we generally do best. Today however involved some considerable bird poop dodging as the pigeons in Oxford street tried their wings at shit-on-the-shopper (an enjoyable activity to tide their time by amidst consuming left-over burger baps on the street, grooming one another and humping on the Nelson's column.) It's all very funny until you get what can only be described as backsplash on the toe of your clean suede boots. By the way, there is NOTHING casual and Blasé about wiping bird crap, or any kind of crap off of your shoe (even if it is done in a SATC Carrie-esque style) it looked a lot more elegant in the movie.
So my man and I part ways and I hop onto the 16:05 back to Egham, my choice of carriage sans human beings was soon deemed useless when an old man sat directly opposite me and pretended to do his crossword whilst peering over his spectacles and examining my every move. Honestly, the carriage was empty was that seat REALLY the only one which took your liking? In my head there was then a massive debate do I move and make it obvious that I'm uncomfortable or do I stay hold my nose and pretend everything is fine? My mind is honestly what I (and I'm sure my boyfriend) would call 'reductio ad absurdum' making this man a mass murderer and therefore my life in danger. Honestly WHAT is wrong with me?! I'm sure he had a perfectly lovely wife a home making him a brew and waiting for his arrival but in my head all he had in his house was bodily remains and a chainsaw. I think the ending to this story is obvious. I hopped off of the 16:05 to Egham in one piece and jumped into the taxi home (You don't even need to ask what I thought the taxi driver would do to me...)
So far the day wasn't too bad at all, until I attempted to hand wash a white shirt with my cutesy purple shower gel and shampoo (Possibility brand Amber and lavender)- mental note taken, do this is you want to tie-dye your clothes in the future- not so chic for an evening shift at the restaurant however....FAIL.
Yours Always,
your Blunderfully Ridiculous L x
Saturday 5 November 2011
A Broken Pinky, Many a road trip to Suffolk and One whole Chocolate Orange in an Evening- my slow decline into third year turmoil...
Absolute utter carnage is the only way that I could describe the past two months. Okay Okay its not been too bad, just mildly tragic. My motto this year is work hard and die doing so. For one evening, ONE EVENING during Freshers week I decide to venture out to the Shabby-not-so-chic Students Union of ROHO for my friends birthday. Having been working all evening I was clearly very sober in that 'I-dont-need-drink-to-have-fun' attitude. No I don't need drink, but I do need two feet to stand on! At the bar, shattering with my friends, when what I can only describe as an over-zealous competition of bum-busting concluded with me soaring through the air having slipped on inevitably some wasted fresher's puke....found my feet but slipped like Bambi on ice and i'm a gonna'. I'm a gonna' sue somebodies ass more like!! Obviously I try to play it cool but with cheap filthy VK as my latest hair accessory, how is this going to work? But Alas, I carry this off in style....I close my gymnastic split legs to hide my horrendous (and un-matching) floral panties, I find my two feet like man's first landing on the moon, I flick my sopping hair out of my eyes and casually yet too elegant for my own liking, take a massive swig of my VK (Still holding it wasn't I!)...Right, now who's up for a jaeger Bomb?! Don't judge asshole, how else was I suppose to drown my sorrows and hide my shame!?
Pictures courtesy of the Wonderful Lydia Manser Cheers for that chicken! I fear these are rather out of hilarity as opposed to concern. Hmph!!
Yours Truly,
The Blundersaurus Rex.
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